He presently took it in his own hand, and scrutinized it intently, I watching him interestedly, for he had stumbled upon one of the very points concerning which I wanted his opinion. Next he turned quickly to the right hand. Both members were bruised and discolored in spots, and bore a number of abrasions.
Dr. De Breen now darted one of his quick, penetrating looks at me.
"Carrying something," he said concisely. "They couldn't break his grip—rapped him over the head."
"So that 's what you make of those scratches and bruises, is it?"—for I wanted to be convinced.
"Sure.… What was it?"
"I think I know," was my reply: "an oblong, leather box, about four inches by three or three and a half."
"Humph!"—as he filled in the blanks of a removal permit—"not much to kill a man for."
"Ever hear of the Paternoster ruby?" said I, casually.
Dr. De Breen turned to me with uplifted brows, and his glasses at once shot to the end of their tether. He blinked a moment.
"The devil!" he then muttered. "You don't say!"